


Heroine for a night

by TheMissingMask



Series: Basil lives [8]
Category: The Picture of Dorian Gray - Oscar Wilde
Genre: Epistolary, Everybody Lives, Heroine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:47:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29363484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMissingMask/pseuds/TheMissingMask
Summary: Basil is rescued by an unlikely party
Relationships: Basil Hallward & Henry Wotton
Series: Basil lives [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1135280
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Heroine for a night

Excerpt from the diary of Lord Henry’s sister, Lady Gwendolyn.

\---

Tonight I write the journal of a heroine. And not merely one of those heroines titled as such for their ability to retain their maiden virtue whilst still securing an eligible match. No, I am a true heroine tonight, rescuing a gentleman from an unforeseen danger.

It was at Lady Brandon’s. One of her little gatherings with as dull a crowd as ever. I attended only because my husband was elsewhere and I knew my particular intrigue - an American, who I’m sure I’ve written of in here before - was attending. I was in a mind to make my husband jealous, or at least to spur some little benign scandal by being seen in deep discourse with him.

In any case, there I was. Oh, and because it is apparently the thing, I must note what I wore. A pale pink frock, newly bought, and accompanied by a suitable adornment of jewels.

So, I was listening to some army gentleman talk to me about kangaroos, or some other foreign beast, when I saw Basil Hallward making a hasty retreat towards the door. He looked quite pale, unnerved. That is, even more than he usually is at social functions. And utterly uncomfortable in his evening wear, despite it having been fitted perfectly for him by Harry’s tailor.

I also saw Lady Brandon making her inelegant way towards him.

And so, like a true heroine, I stepped in. I was some paces nearer Basil than the shrill woman, and my stride is considerably longer than her’s, so I reached him first. He almost jumped out of his skin as I slipped my arm into his and made my greeting. Recovering himself, and flushing deeply, he turned and smiled.

“Good evening,” he said in that unnecessarily formal manner of his, as if we hadn’t known one another this decade and more, “How are you enjoying yourself this evening?”

“In truth,” I replied in a low tone, “I am finding this entire affair rather dull. Won’t you--”

I broke off as Lady Brandon finally came within earshot, and resumed in a louder voice before she might chance to interrupt.

“I’m feeling rather faint, Basil,” I said in the most pitiful manner, “Would you be so kind as to escort me home?”

He almost,  _ almost _ , seemed about to refuse, looking back towards the gathering of people within the room, but for barely a moment before recovering his sense of what is proper and smiling kindly at me.

“Of course. Shall we call for your carriage?” He turned to Lady Brandon with a polite smile and bow, “Forgive me. I must see Lady Gwendolyn home.”

Lady Brandon replied with something shrill and formulaic. That standard condolences for my moment of illness and so on. All very dull, but soon enough Basil and I were out of that dreadful salon and inside my carriage, trotting along at a pleasant pace. Not to my house, mind you. I was not expected back for some time yet. So, instead, I instructed the driver towards Harry’s townhouse so I might indulge my more improper fancies with some of Harry’s delectable books.

I left the two men to their cigarettes and quiet conversation, taking up a window seat while they reclined by the fire. I did catch some essence of their discourse, despite it not really being interesting enough to take up much of my attention. They had begun rather quietly, and all-too seriously for it to be quite proper. But, before long, they were talking of Paris. It seems that Harry is feeling the need to travel for the season, and is insisting that Basil join him.

It’s not unusual. More than once before now, Harry has spontaneously dragged Basil from his home to journey to other countries. There’s a pattern in it, I know, but I cannot fathom what that is...tonight, Basil was distracted, uneasy. And before, I recall encountering him and Harry in Oxford just before such another trip, once again in a state of discontent. At that time, Basil had recently become acquainted with a charming - and, dare I say, rather beautiful in a classical, Grecian sculpture manner - fellow student, and I believed he must have had some sort of dispute with the lad to prompt this flight from England. After all, the beautiful fellow was the eldest of a very wealthy family, and any dislike between Basil and he might have ruined poor Basil before his artistic career commenced.

Oh dear.

It seems my heroic tale has transformed itself into a mystery.

Perhaps I shall pursue the truth behind this mystery. The mystery of Basil Hallward and Lord Henry Wotton’s unsanctioned daliances abroad…

Perhaps that tale will come to a more intriguing finale than that of my own heroics, which, alas, began and ended with a fictitious fainting spell. Such is the lot of the modern heroine. No swords or battles or journeys into haunted castles for us. Just lies to manipulate foolish men into rescuing themselves.

And, on that note, to bed and to dreams of an altogether more invigorating nature.

Goodnight.


End file.
